Monday, 19 October 2009
Oh sweet white powder!
How you bring alive the sleeping cells
With your white power.
You know well the mind’s needs.
Know which the neurons to turn.
The chemicals to release.
Know where to go to liven up the mind
And set the body on its edge.
White Power, you duplicate those chemicals
Deep within the brain’s basin.
The one which set the body on its edge again.
But the stirrings of these givens
Are pale copies of the sharper edges
And wilder stirrings White Power brings.
In its razor-edged state: the body buzzes sharp.
Cells electrified by synaptic charges
And other fine tunings in a pulsing brain.
Neurons, of just the right oscillation,
Conduct the myriad nerves
Which meander through limbs
To perk-up the body to readiness.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Isn't enough for us.
That drove the other’s green age,
Lacks the verve to wrench us from TV.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Leaves our blood tepid and still.
White Power stirs all to extremities.
Dylan’s bio-currents are weak and frail to us.
It can’t rise to Power’s cerebral heights.
Yes! Yes! Of course we know!
We know of the slow way down to the dark inside,
When the mind envelops itself
And switches off the receptors to the concrete world.
That feeds on its own phantasms –
All spun out when cut off from the Real World.
The city-stench of routine, waste.
The wasteful routines.
The routine waste.